


Writetober 2017: Casey Shepard

by alenkoblue



Category: Mass Effect Trilogy
Genre: Gen, writetober
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-04
Packaged: 2019-01-08 12:39:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12254559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alenkoblue/pseuds/alenkoblue
Summary: A collection of promptfills for commandcrshepard's Writetober 2017 Mass Effect prompts, focusing on the life of Casey Uriah Shepard.





	1. Event Horizon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The boundary at which light becomes dark…

The night sky was lit a dull orange by the creeping fires as they consumed the compound before him. The air rung hollow with the groans of dying men and the sharp ping of the final bullets of battle being fired. The stench of smoke, of burning flesh and gun oil warped through the air, burning his nostrils. The earth was heavily trodden, soaked with blood and sweat as the operation drew on. Where once stood an impressive base now stood the decrepit remains of concrete walls, the floors lined with the bodies of batarians. Where once stood a proud and determined commander, now stood the empty vessel of a man.

 

“Lieutenant?”

 

He didn’t move. Or maybe he couldn’t. He wasn’t quite sure. It was as if his feet had sprouted roots and entrenched him in the ground below him, planted shoulder width apart, his arms firmly secured behind his back as his eyes stared blankly at the glowing mass of stone before him.

 

“Lieutenant Shepard? The compound has been cleared. The men just confirmed that there are no more batarians left, sir.”

 

He swallowed, deeply. Swallowing his guilt. His doubt. He dipped his head slightly, enough that the private standing beside him accepted it as a response.

 

“Should we begin loading the shuttles, sir?”

 

Another nod, so tiny he might not have done it. But enough to get the supplies and the platoon hustling onto the spacecraft. They had arrived on 4 shuttles but left on 5. Bodies take up more space lying in bags than sitting in seats, after all. Of all the facts the Lieutenant couldn’t quite focus on this was one thing that etched itself into his mind.

 

As he walked onto the shuttle the marines would whisper that the Lieutenant was a machine. Cold and unfeeling. He was made for war. He had no remorse for the prisoners they had not taken. No regrets for the 16 men and women who fell at his command.

 

The shuttle rocked and his mind kept screaming that there were no shoulders to bump into as there had been on the way down to the planet. The platoon was whispering and his ears amplified every noise, as if to draw attention to the anxious laughter and assuring words that had filled the cabin on their arrival. He stared blankly before him, his eyes glazed over as his mind and body froze. Shock taking over, the trauma setting in. A pair of Corporals on the other side of the chassis murmured to each other about how stiff he looked- always on guard, always at attention. Like he was preparing to have his medals pinned on him at any moment, ready to have ovations lauding his victory against the Hegemony.

 

The Butcher of Torfan.

 

They would award him with epithets, with medals, with honour. And for what? The brutal murder of aliens who knew no different at the cost of 19 sons and daughters, husbands and wives, brothers and sisters.

 

His men would say they had never seen a light in his eyes, that he had been ruthless and calculating from the moment he stepped foot in the academy, but the truth was that the fire that had filled him had died in those moments at the base on Torfan. Where rage at a past he had thought long buried had bubbled to the surface and the fire roared so fiercely that it ate through his humanity and left a charred and hollowed shell in its place.

 

Cold.

 

Empty.

 

Dark.

 

Funny thing about darkness, though. All stars are born in the darkness. And all darkness dies in their light.


	2. Comet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To light up the sky if only for a moment…

The air was abuzz with low murmurs and whispers inside the hall, of awestruck civilians, campaigning politicians, and nervous reporters. Casey peeked out from behind the curtain at the crowd amassed within the theatre and huffed a breath as he took in the sheer volume of people.

“You ready, Commander?” a rough but friendly voice asked from behind him, accompanied by a hand on his shoulder.

“As ready as I’ll ever be, Admiral.” he said, turning his head ever so slightly to get a better look at Admiral Steven Hackett. The man had aged visibly since before the war. His eyes drooped a little more and his hair somehow seemed even grayer. Nevertheless, the Admiral still commanded respect and attention and as soon as he stepped through the curtain and onto the stage, the crowd’s murmurs stopped abruptly, replaced by the rustling of all the attendees rising to their feet. Taking a deep breath, Casey followed, watching as Hackett walked to the podium on the far side of the stage and took his own position nearer to his starting point. A mildly uncomfortable looking chair had been provided for him in case he needed to sit at any point in the ceremony but as much as the brace pinching and squeezing his leg may have been, the chair, which would inevitably creak and groan if he were to sit in it, looked insurmountably worse.

Despite the intense urge to lay all of his weight on his left leg alone, he could hear his physiotherapist in his head grumbling about “using it or losing it,” so he forced himself to stand as straight as possible, arms held at his side and his cap tucked under his arm. A model of military discipline if he did say so himself. Imagine what Anderson would have said if he’d seen me like this, Casey thought, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth before he somberly wished that Anderson were there at all. 

“On behalf of the Systems Alliance and the Citadel Council, I welcome you today to War Memorial Opera House in San Francisco, California. In case you weren’t aware where we were,” Hackett began, prompting a light chuckle from the audience, “We are here today not only to honour the valour and determination of one of our finest, but also to remember and honour the sacrifices of those who gave their lives so that we could be here today. If you would please join me in a moment of silence for our fallen brothers and sisters in arms.” 

A gentle stillness fell over the house as the audience began to think of mostly nameless and faceless figures in vague military fatigues. For Casey, there were only too many names and faces to attach to the moment that forced him to think instead of something less likely to move him to tears a mere minute into the ceremony- dinner plans, new brands of dog food to look into, looking into a less irritating brace. As he could sense the moment of silence was drawing to a close he let himself take a short moment to whisper some thanks to Anderson, wherever he was, for making him a man worthy of this honour. 

As much of an honour as it was, Casey couldn’t help his drifting attention during the lengthy speech Hackett was giving. Every fight, every battle, every triumph- he owed it all to Anderson. To the man who took him in as an angsty and grieving teenager, who fed and sheltered and provided for him, barely asking for a word of thanks in return. But in those final moments, when the word “Dad” had tumbled out of his mouth as haphazardly as the blood was leaking out of their wounds, seeing the way his face lit up before falling silent forever, Casey felt that all the thanks he could have given was wrapped up in that word. Reliving that moment had never been easy and it was harder still standing on a brightly lit stage with thousands of faces upon him. Water pooled at the bottom of his eyelids and he blinked it away, desperate to remain composed in this of all moments.

“...and so, to honour his valour in the face of formidable odds and countless terrors in the name of galactic peace and unity, the Systems Alliance awards Captain Casey Shepard with it’s highest honour and most prestigious award, the Star of Terra.” Hacket finished, stepping away from the podium. 

Casey’s face tweaked at the mention of his rank. That’s an embarassing mistake, he thought to himself as he watched Hackett carefully pick up the medal from a polished mahogany box a young corpsman was holding open, he’s talked to me almost daily for a year and he forgot my rank? Unless… 

Hackett stepped in front of him and held the medal out. “Captain, sir?” Casey asked.

As Casey ducked his head into the royal blue ribbon, Hackett chuckled a little to himself, “Was wondering if you caught that. Congratulations, Captain.”

As the ribbon draped over his shoulders now, the silver star glistening in the stage lights, Casey felt a sense of ease.After taking a second to let it sink in, he stood at attention and saluted the Admiral, a gentle smile turning up the corners of his mouth, “Thank you, sir.”

Hackett shifted ever so slightly, as if he were about to walk back to the podium, before he looked directly into Casey’s eyes, “He would’ve been proud of you Shepard. They all would.”

The voice that slipped out of Casey’s mouth to deliver his thanks was not a voice he even recognized as his own anymore, thin and strained as he choked back tears and somehow the same voice as the 16 year old who put up a fight at every instance. 

The ceremony ended shortly after, with Hackett saying a few final words before the house lights came back on and Casey shuffled off stage.

Waiting just backstage, was a young man leaning against a doorframe, “Hey there, Captain,” he smirked before wrapping Casey in a tight hug.

“How did you get here? I thought you were stationed out in the Exodus Cluster,” Casey pulled himself back from the hug but keeping a firm grasp on the other man’s arms.

The man shrugged and replied with a chuckle, “I guess they have some flexibility when your brother’s being honoured for literally saving the galaxy,”  
Casey smiled, his lips pulling apart to reveal his grin as he embraced the moment, “It’s good to have you here, Izzy. I think I’m gonna need a drink with my brother after that,” he threw his arm over his brother’s shoulder and they walked toward the lobby of the opera house.

Casey’s brother leaned out from Casey’s arm and turned toward him, his gaze a little disdainful, “You know, you’re the only person who still calls me that,”

“And you love and appreciate that I keep the tradition alive?” Casey teased, bumping his shoulder into his brothers

“No, I wish you’d just get over some dumb nickname and call me Isaiah like everyone else,”

Casey pursed his lips in thought, rocking his shoulders as he pretended to weigh the options, “Nah,” he pulled his brother in and rustled his hair with his hand, “You’ll always be my Izzy,”

Readjusting the band holding his locs in place, or rather the band that had held them in place before Casey had messed it up, Isaiah separated himself from Casey, “So, how’s it feel?”

Casey stopped, the smile on his face giving way to a more serene and contemplative expression, “You know, until this point, the biggest medal ceremonies of my career were to commemorate how much violence I had committed destroying that base on Torfan and decimating Saren and the geth. To finally get one because of how much good I’ve done? Something about that makes it all worth it. My personal struggles, not the war.”

Isaiah turned back to his brother with a soft but very crooked smile on his face and buried him in another hug, “You’ve always done good to me, Case.”


End file.
